


No One To Tell

by SoSoFabulous



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellamy hates Owls, Bellamy likes Clarke, F/M, Gen, Jasper and Monty are little angels, Slight plot deviation, The guards in Solitary are assholes, There are too many to add, just read it, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoSoFabulous/pseuds/SoSoFabulous
Summary: Clarke Griffin was raped in solitary, and now has a strong aversion to beds. Bellamy finds out by accident, Jasper and Monty are told, and Finn remains as oblivious as ever. Oh, and Owls are evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.





	1. Owls and Confessions

Bellamy Blake was done with Owls. Fucking done. It was bad enough that the Grounders were after them when he was awake, and now he had the loudest FUCKING OWL in the HISTORY of Owls DIRECTLY above HIS FUCKING TENT!  
If it didn’t shut its mouth soon, the Grounders wouldn’t have the chance to kill him. He’d kill himself. Trying to shoot that bloody Owl. In the dark. At about 2am.  
However, after a few minutes of total silence, he started to drift back to sleep……  
WHOOOOOT!  
Bellamy groaned, loudly. Why him? Why not Clarke? Or Miller? Hell, anyone but him! It was like the bloody thing followed him. He’d moved his tent four times in the past week, and, no matter where he went, that DESPICABLE OWL kept BLOODY APPEARING.  
.  
.  
.  
Wait….. There were three levels on the Dropship. If he went and slept there for the night, that bloody Owl wouldn’t be able to get to him. Three layers of steel had proved very effective at blocking out sound in the past. Perhaps, for the first time in over a week, Bellamy could get a good (half) night’s sleep.  
With that thought in mind, he crept silently through the Camp. About half the way to his destination, he heard another loud hoot and turned, seeing a snowy white Owl swoop down from it’s perch - the long, thick branch that held up THE VERY TOP OF HIS TENT - and fly up overhead, very clearly following him. ‘So', Bellamy thought, 'I was right. It is following me.’  
Bellamy started into a sprint, closing the remaining distance between him and the Dropship in almost record time. Quickly, he peeled back the tarp/door and slipped inside. It was dark, but he could make out enough to know his way around. Bellamy made his way across the room, heading in the direction of the blanket pile he’d seen earlier.  
Until the pile moved. And groaned. And sat up.  
Even in the near pitch blackness, it became apparent that this blanket pile was not, in fact, just a pile of blankets. It was Clarke.  
“Oh, this is just great!” Bellamy groaned, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “What the hell are you doing here?!?”  
Clarke pulled her blankets closer, scowling.  
“Me? What are you doing in here? It’s, what, two, three in the morning? Go to sleep!”  
Bellamy groaned again, eyeing up the makeshift bed in the far corner. Wait. There was a bed in the Dropship. A bed he specifically remembered being made for Clarke. Who was on the floor. On the other side of the room.  
“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” Bellamy asked, before he could stop himself.  
Again, Clarke tightened her grip on her blankets.  
“.......Because I wanted to?” She whispered, but it sounded more like a question than an answer.  
“That’s not a very good reason, Clarke, and you know it! Valuable resources were used to make that bed, and you’re not even gonna sleep on it?!?” Bellamy didn’t know why he was pressing this, why he didn’t just turn around and go back to bed (ok, maybe he knew the answer to that last one, but he wasn’t about to admit that for fear of reducing dramatic effect). But this clearly bothered Clarke, and if they had to sleep in the same room, he wanted to know why she was acting so weird.  
“I told them not to make me one,” He heard her whisper, her face angled away from him. “I told them to use it for something else, but Finn insisted. Said he didn’t want me sleeping on the ground. But I’ve slept on the ground for months, and- and I’m perfectly fine with that. I told them not to make it, I told them…..”  
If Clarke realised her slip, it was too late for her to correct herself. She’d said months, but they’d only been on the ground for little over a week. Bellamy noticed, however. And, being Bellamy, rushed forwards with no idea what he was really talking about.  
“Months? Clarke, we’ve been on the ground for nine days. You telling me they didn’t give you a bed up there in Solitary?”  
Clarke curled in on herself, her breath quickening. This was not how she wanted her night to go.  
“.....They did.” She whispered.  
“Well, then what was it? Was the mattress not up to your cushy standards, Princess?” He sneered, but his sneer turned into a frown when he saw a tear slide down her cheek, refracting in the moonlight. Slowly, cautiously, Bellamy approached her. He’d never seen the Princess cry, not like this. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, noting the barely concealed flinch she made at the unexpected contact.  
“......Princess?”  
Clarke exhaled a shaky, rattling breath. Biting her lip, she looked up at him, the moonlight catching more tear tracks down her cheeks.  
“Bad things happen in the beds.” She whispered, her voice barely audible.  
Audible enough, however, for Bellamy to understand what she was meaning. His heart clenched, and his thoughts ran wild, going over every face, every guard he’d ever seen on the Ark. One of them had hurt the Princess, their Princess, his Princess. And they were going to pay.  
“Clarke, who did it? Who hurt you?” He brought a hand up, cupping her cheek.  
“A guard. O’Rourke, I think. He- every night for ten months, he came into my cell. Ten months. And I- there was nothing I could do.” Clarke broke down into a sob, surprising both Bellamy and herself by leaning against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He adjusted himself accordingly, pulling her closer and wrapping his arms around her, rocking slightly from side to side.  
“Why didn’t you tell someone?” He asked, though he had no idea how the guard shifts worked in Solitary. He imagined they would have some sort of rotation.  
“ The other guards, they-they were all in on it. There was no one to tell.”  
Bellamy was suddenly very glad he'd been kicked off the Guard.


	2. Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Ok, so this might just be the best story I've written so far, regardless of which site and account you look at. You have no idea how cool it's been to receive so much Kudos and so many hits in a matter of days.  
> Anyway, this chapter is pretty much just a filler with fluff, but I have another on the way! Be patient, little humans.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night, Bellamy holding Clarke, Clarke trying desperately to forget. Eventually, they went to sleep, both emotionally drained and carrying a new, if not slightly unexpected, understanding of each other.

When they woke up, Wells was dead.

He stood by her whilst she cried, held her hair back when she vomited at the sight of his body. They’d thought it was Grounders, at first, but she proved them wrong, proved that the knife used to kill her best friend was made out of metal from the Dropship, and proved that, without a doubt, the knife belonged to Murphy.  
The rest of the day passed in a blur, everything fast and fuzzy and indistinct until the moment he watched Charlotte jump off that cliff.  
He and Clarke banished Murphy from Camp, promising death should he ever dare to return.

Both Bellamy and Clarke were exhausted by the time they returned to the Dropship, and it was with an unspoken, mutual agreement that he lay down next to her under her - their - blanket pile. It didn't take long for the events of the day to catch up to them, and soon they were both sobbing and clinging to each other like their lives depended on solely the other. To be honest, they kind of did.  
It was Clarke who spoke first.  
“I-I’m scared. I-I d-d-don’t, and Charlotte, and-and-and-”  
“Shhhh,” Bellamy whispered, cutting her off with a soft, if not rather damp, kiss to her forehead.  
“I know. I get it. I understand, Clarke. And I’m scared, too.” And, though he loathed to admit it, lying on the floor of the dropship with Clarke fucking Griffin, mourning the loss of a 12-year-old murderer and a man he despised, Bellamy blake had never felt more at peace.

They slept like that every night till she was taken to the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this pathetically short filler chapter. Coming up next, we meet Monty, Jasper, Maya and the Mountain Men! Feel free to comment whatever you like; praise, constructive crit, random pointless conversation, anything. I accept it all!  
> Have fun, my pretties, and wait patiently for the next chapter of No One To Tell.


End file.
